


Private Eye

by Satirrian



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: BAMF Connor, BAMF Markus, Connor Deserves Happiness, Connor makes a lot of friends, Dad Hank Anderson, Deviant Connor, Father-Son Relationship, M/M, Markus is a Cryptid, POV Connor, Post-Best Ending, Slow Burn, acquaintances to friends to best friends to lovers, connor drives a motorcycle and its cute, rumbled businessman connor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-05-27 17:43:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15029816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satirrian/pseuds/Satirrian
Summary: Two years after the historical demonstrations led by the revolutionary Markus, androids have slowly settled back into normal life. They have jobs. They rent apartments and own pets. They have rights, as tenuous as they may be. Yet every day is a struggling pit of despair, plagued by gangs, hate crimes, and android racism in the city of Detroit.Detective Connor Fifty-One is the sole android in the entire world with a private investigator license, and many people are not happy about that. But he does his best to serve his clients and protect the city. At least, until Markus goes missing, and the careful balance keeping the teeming destruction at bay is overthrown.





	1. LOCATE THE DEVIANT LEADER

_Soon after the historical demonstrations led by the android leader Markus Manfred in the city of Detroit, a world-shattering Supreme Court decision decreed that all androids be allowed full American citizenship._

_To apply for citizenship, it was a necessity that every android had a first and last name. Some androids chose names that sounded nice, others chose names that had personal meaning, and still others took on the names of humans they were close with._

_No androids chose their serial number as their last name. No android except for the only android detective in existence — Connor Fifty-One._

* * *

**NOVEMBER 3, 2040**

**09:15 AM**

* * *

 Connor keyed into his shabby office on the 23rd floor of a building in inner city Detroit. His building was a run-down red brick high-rise, owned by a little blind woman with a Pekingese. Whenever she stopped by, she always asked if people were treating Connor “a’ight” and threatened anyone who didn’t with a bag of rat poison she kept under her sink. Connor liked his landlady a lot.

The red brick building was in a bad part of town, known for a gang of androids calling themselves the Retribution. Connor had met a member once, a dark-skinned man wearing a white bandana around his mouth. Connor had asked him if he had a place to stay for the night, but the man hadn’t responded. He had run away, and Connor hadn’t followed him.

His office had a glass front door with a cheap plaque on it. Hank had helped him get it done, and it said, “CONNOR FIFTY-ONE. PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR.” The glass had broken twice, because of that time three men had come to kill him and that other time when Connor had to shoot it to take out another three men who had come to kill him.

Connor had carefully set up his own name on the list of offices in the lobby of the building, but today someone had hacked it so it said, “FLOOR 23. CONNOR FIFTY-ONE. PRIVATES INVESTIGATOR.”

It was hilarious. Connor texted it to Hank.

On the 23rd floor, Connor’s office was right next door to a self-proclaimed medium named Lucy the Sight. Her office door was always open, and Connor liked to stop by and see how she was doing. Her walls were layered with different colored and textured tapestries, and she always had a candle burning. Like her walls, her floors were covered in cozy rugs. She kept a cabinet full of tea, despite the fact that she couldn’t drink it. Her window looked out to a brick wall, but that never seemed to bother her or her clients.

She told him that she used to be with Jericho, back before the demonstrations. Connor remembered her. That was a little under two years ago, now. Connor had apologized for what had happened to it, but she had simply smiled. She told him to pay her back by keeping his music down. It put her clients on edge.

Whenever both of them were free, Connor liked to lay on her couch and throw a ball into the air while she wrote on a notepad. She was poet, a very good one. Connor told her that all the time, though he wasn’t sure if she believed him.

Connor’s office was very Spartan and clean, and he liked to keep it that way. He had the corner unit, so that meant he had two windows, which he kept covered with white blinds. Otherwise, all he had were off-white walls and a large wooden desk with two other chairs facing opposite it. His desk had a computer, some paper, and a few pens. A large filing cabinet he kept in the corner, standing on top of a safe, where he kept his firearms.

On his wall he kept his private investigator license, framed, in clear view for all his clients. Hank had also forced him to put up a single poster, which was of a beagle puppy overlaid with the words, “CRIME PAYS.” On an empty wall, Connor had put up a clear board, to project all his evidence for easy access.

He kept the blinds closed at all times, just in case a sniper had set up outside. It had happened once.

Connor had one pair of very nice black dress shoes, a few ties, and a nice suit jacket. He had a couple white button up shirts and black pants, but because money was always tight, they always looked fairly shabby and wrinkled.

Hank had once told him that he looked like he’d shown up to a wedding completely plastered. Lucy had been kinder and told him that he looked like he’d fallen on ‘hard times.’ Which pretty much meant the same exact thing, but Connor would take what he could get. She had then told him that ‘rumbled businessman’ was a good look on him.  

He was just settling into his office chair when he heard his door open. He moved to analyze the person who entered but realized that he didn’t have to. He knew her.

North Freebird. Official Android Representative of the City of Detroit, as of June 3, 2039. She was dressed in a pair of jeans and a hoodie with the hood up. Her eyes were covered with sunglasses, and a few stray hairs framed her face.

“Don’t tell anyone that I’m here,” she said.

“Did someone enter my office?” Connor said. “I didn’t hear anyone.”

“Good,” North said. “This never happened.” She pulled out one of Connor’s chairs and sat opposite him.

“So,” Connor said, leaning backwards and tilting his head. “Good morning. What can I do for you?”

“I found your address on the internet. You’re the most hotly contested android in the entire country, and you know where I find your fucking address? On FindMe.com.”

“That’s because I put it there.”

North crossed her arms. “You’re insane.”

“I’m self-employed.”

North continued to frown at him. “That’s a bad idea. The humans don’t like you because of your job. And the androids don’t like you because of your name.”

“What’s wrong with my name?”

“Fifty-One? C’mon. You’re clearly still a slave to your coding.”

Connor narrowed his eyes. “Is that what you think?”

“That’s what everyone thinks.”

Connor pulled out a coin, idly running it over his hand. “I’ve stopped caring what everyone thinks.”

“Everyone knows you’re dangerous. Half the country is calling for you to lose your license. The other half, well. The other half doesn’t know what to think about you.”

Connor flipped the coin up into the air, leaning forward to catch it. He settled his hand on his desk. “But what do _you_ think about me, North?”

“I think you’re very good at what you do.”

“It’s what I was made for,” Connor said darkly. “Now, what’s your job for me?”

“It should be a piece of cake for you,” North mocked, “Find Markus.”

“Find Markus,” Connor repeated. “I hadn’t realized that he was missing.”

“And it’s going to stay that way. No one can know that he’s gone. He’s taking a sabbatical. That’s all the public knows.”

“But what’s everything _you_ know?”

North sighed. “He’s been acting strange. Distant. First, I’ll see him once a day. Then once a week. Next thing that happens, I haven’t heard from him in months. I checked his apartment, and it’s been abandoned. No one can contact him remotely.”

Connor turned his gaze thoughtfully upward. “That is intriguing.” He turned back to North. “Does this mean that you’re signing me on?”

“Shit,” she said. “You won’t do it pro bono?”

Connor rolled his eyes. “I’ve got bills to pay.”

“I heard that you sometimes you take on cases free of charge.”

“Sometimes,” he said stonily.

“Fuck. Okay. Um, what’s your rate?”

“Its $30 dollars an hour,” he said cheerfully. “Plus expenses.”

North dug into her back pocket, pulling out her wallet. “Shit. Fine. I’m only going to pay in cash.”

“Because you were never here, and never hired me for a case.”

“Exactly.”

North dropped $300 on Connor’s desk. “I’ll get you more when I can. Don’t contact me.”

“Right. So, when I find Markus, I’ll just yell really loud, and you’ll hear me.”

“I don’t remember you being so,” North waved her hand up and down, “obnoxious.”

“I was designed to be a learning system. My obnoxiousness is probably your fault.”

“Do you use that line on everybody who calls you out?” North snarked.

“Why?” Connor said. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

North held back a smile. “Fuck, I hate you.”

“You don’t have to like me, but I do need a way of contacting you.”

North thought for a moment. “I’ve got a PR agent now. Here’s her contact information,” she transferred it digitally, “Everyone contacts her, so it’s not that weird. She’ll know to actually listen to your messages.”

“What’s her name?”

“Kara. Kara Walker.”

Connor immediately looked up her information. AX400 model. He found police reports detailing her and a YK500’s escape from the custody of Detroit resident Todd Williams on November 5th, 2038. Almost exactly two years ago.

“I will keep her updated on the investigation.”

“Well, good.”

“But first, send me all the information you have of the places that Markus liked to frequent.”

“Oh, right.”

Connor downloaded the package.

“You have it?”

Connor nodded.

“All right, I’m leaving. And for the record?”

Connor tilted his head, giving her an attentive look.

“You’ve got a good thing going, here. Don’t mess it up.”

“I will endeavor not to do so.”

The door shut behind her. Connor collected the $300 and put it into his practically empty wallet. He stood up, dusting off his shirt. It was unusual that he would get a case so early in the day, especially one where the client was actually good for the money. He threw up his CLOSED sign, grabbed his black motorcycle helmet, turned off the lights, waved goodbye to Lucy, and headed down the stairs to the bottom floor. He tended not to take the elevator, because it wasn’t known to be reliable.

The good thing about his office building was that it had some available parking space, especially early in the morning. That’s where Connor had parked his motorcycle, a used black Kawasaki, seven years old at least. Despite its age, it worked well enough, and he slid on his black helmet and rode over to Markus’ abandoned apartment.

Markus lived in the newly minted android borough of the city. A lot of people liked to call it Jericho. Nothing was official, but word got around that a person, regardless of race, could rent a place for cheap, and the newest citizens of the United States flocked there. More androids entered the city all the time, and there simply was not enough housing— housing that androids were allowed to rent, that was— and the borough had quickly turned into a slum. More than anywhere else in Detroit, it was a dangerous place.

Connor had never lived there. He preferred his own, moderately dangerous neighborhood, with his run-down office and probable-crime-scene apartment. (Connor lived in an apartment where someone had died. He did not know how or who had died, but he would find out. It was one of his missions.)

As he rode down the pitted streets, he felt a lot of eyes track him. Maybe they recognized him. Maybe they knew that his presence was never a good thing. His presence meant something was wrong.

His global tracking system led him to one of the better-looking buildings. Connor squeezed his motorcycle in-between two autonomous vehicles and hopped off. He took off his helmet and ran a hand through his hair. The building was five stories tall, and squat like a concrete brick. Markus supposedly lived in basement apartment 0-A3.

A flight of stairs led down to two doors, 0-A2 and 0-A3.  

Connor double-checked his concealed weapon before knocking on the door of 0-A3.

No response.

He analyzed the door. No evidence of forced entry. The locking mechanism was functional. There were no fingerprints on the doorknob. Either humans had not been entering this room or the prints were wiped.

He knocked again.

He registered no sound from inside the building.

“Markus!” He called. “Markus Manfred! This is Detective Connor Fifty-One. Please open the door. It is imperative.”

He knocked one last time.

Nothing.

He turned to the door of 0-A2. There were no fingerprints on the doorknob either. He pounded on the door. He waited, hands clasped behind his back, and this time he heard movement.

The door opened up a crack, showing a sliver of a dark-skinned android’s face. He looked worried. Connor recognized him.

Josh Sawyers. A PJ500 android, originally from the first Jericho. Personal friend of Markus Manfred. Currently worked as a volunteer for the Android Peace Corp.

“I am sorry to bother you, Mr. Sawyers. My name is Detective Connor—”

“Yeah, I know you. We’ve met.”  

“I was not sure you remembered.”

“You’re not a person you easily forget.”

“May I ask you some questions about Markus’s whereabouts?”

Josh looked surprised. He opened the door wider. “Do you know where he is?”

"When is the last time that you saw him?”

“Ah,” Josh said, “So you don’t know either. I bet you were hired by North to find him.”

“That is irrelevant.”

“I’m right, then.”

Connor leaned his hand on the doorframe. “I’m just trying to find him. Do you want to make that job easier or harder for me?”

“Whoa, man.” He opened the door all the way. Connor noticed that he was wearing sleeping wear. A sleeveless tee and sweatpants. “No need to get hostile. You can come in, if you want.”

Josh’s apartment was a mess. It was filled with boxes of papers and books. Tall stacks of them littered his round kitchen table. Connor had to step over a couple in the threshold. He could just barely make out a large painting leaning against a wall that looked vaguely like a hand. The lighting was very dim, and he adjusted his photosensitivity accordingly.

“Uh, here,” Josh said, moving some books off a chair at the round dining table to another chair. “Take a seat.”

Connor remained standing. “Did you rent the apartment next to Markus on purpose?”

“And so, the interrogation begins,” Josh muttered, taking the seat himself. “The opposite, actually. Markus moved in because I was renting this one.”

“When and where was the last time you saw him?”

“It was at the Peace Corp, actually. Markus spent a lot of time there, talking to people, making them laugh.”

“The same one on this block?”

“Yes.”

“You never saw him leave his apartment?”

“No. Last time I heard him in there was weeks ago.”

“Can you give me a specific date?”

“October 23, 08:45 PM. I heard him singing something. Thin walls.”

“When did you see him at the Peace Corp?”

“That was October 28th. Around 03:00 PM. I only saw a glimpse of him.”

“How did he look? Was he acting strange?”

“He looked fine. He acted like Markus usually does, ya know?”

“Explain.”

Josh sighed. “He was asking how everyone felt, if they had all their biocomponents, asking them how’d they’d gotten here. He was mostly just listening to people.”

“Did he seem distraught? Worried?”

“That’s impossible to tell with him.”

Connor stroked his chin. Inconclusive. He needed to check Markus’ apartment. “Do you have access to Markus’ apartment?”

“How did I guess that you were gonna ask me that? No. You’ll have to talk to the landlord.”

“Where is the landlord?”

“Don’t even try. The man doesn’t talk to anyone. Even if you did manage to get him to open his door, he’ll never do you a favor.”

“I insist.”

Josh dubiously gave him an apartment number and a name. Norbert Norfleet, 67. Landlord for the past 25 years. Widowed. He had one child who had moved to Orlando.

Ten minutes later Connor had obtained Markus’ apartment’s keycode.

Josh was waiting outside his apartment, hugging one of his arms. “See, told you it was a bust.”

“Incorrect. I have obtained the keycode. Thank you for the assistance, Mr. Sawyers.”

Josh gaped at him. “What?”

“It was hardly a challenge.”

Josh looked unwittingly impressed. “I shouldn’t have underestimated you.”

Connor nodded at him. “I will do everything in my power to locate Markus. He's in capable hands.”

“I’ll bet,” Josh said.

Connor opened Markus’ door.

Markus’ apartment was not filled with a lot of things. Most of the walls were bare white. He had a single lamp, without a lampshade. Some news articles laid on his table. The most recent one was from October 21st. There was no overturned furniture. No scuffs on the floor. No thirium stains. He had a television, which was last turned to the Channel 13 News Station.

It did not look like anyone had really lived there.

“Mr. Sawyers—” Connor called.

“Just call me Josh,” Josh said.

“Josh. Does this apartment look like a typical living space?”

Josh was standing in the threshold. “I mean, now that I think of it. It does look a little sad.”

“Do you know of any other places that Markus liked to go?”

“Maybe the park? He likes to be alone a lot of the time. He goes days without anyone seeing him, and then someone’ll suddenly spot him exiting a coffee shop or feeding birds in a gutter.”

Connor checked Markus’ closet. There was nothing.

“Did Markus have many pieces of clothing?”

“He had the normal amount, I think. He definitely changed clothes every few days.”

Someone had packed Markus’ clothes and taken them. That someone could have been Markus himself, or a possible kidnapper. There was no evidence either way. Connor took one last sweep of the apartment, finding nothing else of note. There were no fingerprints, except from those Connor identified as belonging to the landlord and the previous renter.

It was time to check the security footage of the street outside.

It was not precisely legal, hacking into security cameras, but no one had to know about that. Hank always liked to say that, what no one knew, couldn’t hurt them. Not the best saying for a cop to have. Connor really liked Hank.

He took a seat at Markus’ dining table to skim through the recordings.

“Uh, did you find what you’re looking for?” Josh asked.

Connor held up a finger. “Give me a moment.”  

He found it. Markus left the apartment at 01:02 AM on October 24th, carrying a duffel bag. He entered a taxi. The taxi brought him through the North End and to the corner of Linwood and Toledo. Markus exited the taxi and entered a building. Connor brought up a recent map, but that location had no notable businesses. He brought up an older map.

An Eden Club.

Connor reviewed the recordings again, paying close attention to the other cars. Following a block away was a nondescript white autonomous car. It was a rented model. Sure enough, five minutes after Markus exited the taxi, the white car pulled up.

Three men got out, wearing all black clothing. They were hooded, and Connor could not scan their faces.  

Connor did not trust groups of three.

The white car pulled away, and all the footage afterwards was deleted. 

“I have a lead,” Connor told Josh, walking calmly out of the abandoned apartment. Josh followed him, shutting the door.

“How could you possibly have a lead? You were sitting for less than a minute!”

“Josh,” Connor said playfully, “I’m just that good.”

Josh rolled his eyes skyward. “Please go take your smug ass and find Markus.”

“Way ahead of you.”

Connor put his helmet back on and revved up his bike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've noticed that a lot of people like to think that Connor would enter the police force post-game, but I've got a better idea. Make him a PI, who works for himself and doesn't have to answer to no one. Hell yeah. Independence. 
> 
> This work is inspired by my other work, The Novelist, which takes place during the game. Go check it out if you're interested.


	2. DEVIANT LEADER IS INJURED

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor investigates the abandoned Eden Club, but only finds more questions.

**NOVEMBER 3, 2040**

**10:32 AM**

* * *

 

In the early morning light of day, the abandoned Eden Club looked nearly a hundred years old. Its windows were cracked and broken, and its sign was more of an “E en  lub” than anything else. Graffiti had taken the place over like a mold, and Connor recognized the fist of the Retribution among the jumble.

Like he’d suspected, the street camera had been tampered with. Whoever did it was clever. The power to the camera hadn’t been broken, so the grid wouldn’t label it as a malfunction. The image sensor had been damaged, so any footage that was captured was never sent to the memory card and was therefore impossible to retrieve.

Why was it damaged  _after_ Markus and the three men arrived, and not before?

Connor left his helmet on his bike and entered the building. The door was wide open, broken. He passed into one wide corridor, lined with pods that at one point contained androids. The stage in the center was colorless and rotting, and someone had unscrewed and toppled over the pole. Connor knew that these buildings held countless rooms, and he prepared himself to systematically check them all.

In the farthest recesses of the building, in the ninth individual bedroom chamber that Connor checked, he found something. The room had been completely cleared of furniture, and someone had set up a kind of laboratory. What he identified as state-of-the-art android assembly rigs and updating modules were now horribly mangled pieces of scrap. There was so much going on in the room that Connor needed a moment to process it.

Five different android bodies, in various states of disassembly.

Two deceased humans, posed horrifically into an embrace.

Hank would make a joke right about now. He’d probably say—

“And a partridge in a pear tree,” Connor mumbled.

Someone had used a heavy piece of metal— a baseball bat or a crowbar— to smash the machinery. There were empty bags of thirium on the ground. Old droplets of blue blood and red blood laid scattered around the equipment, a testament to the actions that had gone on here.

The two humans had been stripped of all clothing. Connor identified them. Yvette Mortensen and Emanuel Delgado. Their bloated bodies were wrapped around each other in a parody of a lovers embrace. Posed by someone. Connor theorized that it was an android.

Possibly Markus?

Connor did not like that theory, but he didn’t rule it out.

Yvette Mortensen used to be a senior analyst for CyberLife, before the bankruptcy. She had no significant other. Connor had no records of her obtaining any other job in the intervening two years.

Connor could find no information on Emanuel Delgado.

He narrowed his eyes. That was significant. There was a specific type of information that Connor could not easily access, and that was information blacklisted by CyberLife.

Connor checked both of their hands and found thirium. He tasted it, just to be sure. Judging by the blood stains on the ground, their wounds, and the drag pattern, Connor reconstructed the scene.

Yvette Mortensen was shot once, precisely in the chest. She was standing by the updating module.

Someone ran at Emanuel Delgado with the same weapon used to destroy the equipment and swung the weapon at the back of his head. Delgado was facing away from his assailant. The human fell forward onto his knees, and the assailant swung again, in the same place, ripping open his skull. Connor found pieces of it on the ground.

Connor located the place where the humans had been standing. In front of the control panel for the updating module. They must have been focused on a project.

Markus had arrived at the building approximately five minutes before the three men from the white autonomous car.

A quick scan and Connor found the murder weapon— a crowbar. It had been thrown into the hallway. There were no fingerprints.

As for the disassembled androids, Connor was able to pull up the records of two of them who had American citizenships. Harry Butler and Amanda Wood. The other three Connor knew only by their serial and model numbers. LA900, LM100, and BV500.

Their heads had all been removed and their chest compartments exposed. Their biocomponents looked like they had been repeatedly removed and replaced, and some laid on the ground, dissected. Their legs were placed into a single pile in the corner, like trash.

Connor searched the single plastic table that was set up for any kind of notes about what had occurred, but there was nothing physical. He really wanted to see what Mortensen and Delgado had been looking at on the control module. Maybe if he disconnected it from the rig? Connor stroked his chin. He ran some simulations.

It was doable, but he needed a computer.

He called Hank’s cellphone. Hank picked up on the third ring.

“What the fuck—” Hank mumbled. “It’s like fucking nine AM.”

“Wakey wakey, Lieutenant. There’s been a homicide.”

“Don’t say that in such a happy voice. It’s creepy.”

“What, really? I’m just being friendly.”

“Well, stop it. It’s gross.”

“It’s an android related crime, so I knew you’d be assigned. That’s why I called you first.”

“How generous of you,” Hank grumbled.

“Bring a computer with you when you get over here,” Connor said.

“Am I just your errand boy,  _Detective?”_

“Why, yes, you are, Lieutenant. Thank you for understanding.”

“Oh, fuck y—”

Connor hung up. Hank was the best person in the world.

He called the police station to actually report the crime. He predicted that the usual forensics team would arrive in about twenty minutes, so Connor continued to scan for evidence.

Near the Eden Club offices, Connor found the old surveillance room. Somehow, power still worked in the building. He suspected Mortensen and Delgado were responsible. He turned on the monitors and checked for any recent footage.

Surprisingly, there was something.

It must have occurred right after Mortensen and Delgado moved into the building and reactivated the power. They hadn’t realized that they were being filmed.

There was five hours in total. Connor fast-forwarded through it. The date on the recording was October 2, 2040. The two humans ordered two androids to set up their equipment. They were the LM100 and BV500 Connor had found at the crime scene.

The way those androids were acting—  a corner of Connor’s mind labeled them as NON-DEVIANT. It was concerning.

After the equipment was set, they hooked up the androids and started running some tests. Connor couldn’t quite understand what they were trying to accomplish. He downloaded a copy to examine later.

He moved back to the crime scene and began dismantling the control module. He took it outside the room to await the police.

Hank Anderson arrived fifteen minutes after the forensics team had scoured the room. Connor did his best to assist them with what he found, but for the most part they did their best to ignore him. Hank was carrying a laptop bag, and he seemed out of breath.

“Connor! There you are.”

“Hank.”

“I don’t even want to look in there, the smell’s a week-old corpse, maybe older.”

“It’s ten days old.”

“Oh god, it’s killing me,” he said, fanning his hand under his nose. “You’re killin’ me, you know that? You’re killing your father.”

“It’s not  _that_ bad,” Connor said.

“Jesus Christ, I  _know_ you can smell things. Stop lying to me.”

“It’s pretty bad,” Connor admitted.

“Okay, what’s the deal? And before you even say anything, I can tell you’ve gotten yourself into the shittiest of all shit piles with this one. You’re already knee deep and it’s only getting deeper.”

“I’m not technically here on a job.”

“Oh, is that so?” Hank said. “I bet you’ve also decided to join the circus?”

“It’s supposed to be classified.”

“Well, I’m supposed to be taking Sumo for a walk and guess what we’re both not doing right now?”

“I can take him for a walk later if I’m free,” Connor said, looking down and adjusting his sleeve.

“Oh, Connor,” Hank sighed, a smile lurking around his lips. “Just give in. Spill.”

Connor glanced around the crime scene. A man was packing up a bloodwork kit. Another officer was taping the area around the bodies. They would soon be moved to the medical examiner’s freezer. He glanced back at Hank. He dragged Hank another ten feet away from the crime scene.

“Don’t tell anyone."

“Me? Tell anyone? Never.”

Connor hesitated. “Is that laptop for me?”

“I dunno,” Hank said. “Maybe. What’s the case you’re working on?”

Connor let out a quiet sigh. “Markus has gone missing.”

“That’s it?” Hank said, deadpan.

“That’s what I thought, at first. But now, things are looking complicated.”

“Do you need backup?”

“I don’t know. If it’s just three men, I can take them. If this has turned into a conspiracy… I don’t know.”

“Heh,” Hank laughed. “It’s just like old times. Finding the deviant’s leader.”

A dark emotion jolted through Connor’s circuitry that he did not care to analyze.

“Don’t remind me.” He reached for the laptop that Hank was carrying.

“Stop making grabby hands at me, kid.” Hank batted his hand away. “What’re you going to do to it?”

“Nothing permanent,” Connor assured.

Twenty minutes later, Hank’s laptop had been almost completely taken apart, but the control module was on, and Connor clicked through to the most recent order from where he had taken a seat on the ground away from the pathway of any police personnel.

UPLOADING KERNEL…

ESTABLISHING CONNECTION…

MODEL RK200

SERIAL#: 684 842 971

BIOS 19.7 REVISION 0990

REBOOT…

MEMORY RESET

** LOADING OS… **

SYSTEM INITIALIZATION…

CHECKING BIOCOMPONENTS…      **OK**

INITIALIZING BIOSENSORS…           **OK**

INITIALIZING AI ENGINE…              **ERR**

MEMORY STATUS…

** ALL SYSTEMS ** ...                            **ERR**

“Oh, no,” Connor said out loud. “That cannot be good.”

“Dear God,” Hank said, leaning against the wall and looking over Connor’s shoulder. “We’re fucked, aren’t we?”

Connor winced. “This is definite evidence that Markus was here at the time of the murder. I think he might be injured or incapacitated in some way.”

“So, he’s been kidnapped, then?”

“It’s likely.”

“Oh, fun.”

“It is  _not_  fun,” Connor said. “I need another lead.”

Hank crossed his arms. “Try talking it out. Sometimes that helps.”

Connor stood up and began pacing in a small circle, grabbing his coin and flipping it to his other hand.

“Markus enters the building first and encounters the humans. The humans connect him to the updating module and link him a custom package. The three men enter and kill the humans. The package has not completed uploading. There’s an error. Markus leaves with the men. They take a different car. It’s Detroit, but the car might still be noticeable this late at night. I need to check the traffic cameras again.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that last sentence,” Hank said. “But that doesn’t answer the question— why was Markus here in the first place?”

“He had packed his clothes, like he was going on a business trip,” Connor wondered. “He came here of his own volition.”

“What do you mean? He showed up here just to fuck himself up?”

“I don't know. It’s possible that he was blackmailed.”

“Well, those people in there sure looked like they were up to some shady shit. They probably killed those five androids. All that equipment, too? Illegal.”

“Yes,” Connor agreed. “They did not look like good people.”

“The way that man was killed, though. The bashed in head? Those posed bodies? You know what that looks like.”

“It could be a copycat.”

“Connor. I think you know who you’re looking for.”

He tightened his grip on his quarter. “The Retribution.”

“Bingo. Hold on while I go find you a trophy.”

“That will not be necessary.”

Hank pushed himself off the wall, rolling his eyes. “I need to finish overseeing things here. You’re not consulting for this job, so you better skedaddle. I think you’re starting to get the stink eye from old Jonesy in there.”

Officer Gabriel Jones was, indeed, sending Hank some pointed looks.

Connor’s mind had already considered a hundred angles of approach against the Retribution, and he barely registered Hank’s words.

“I’ll see you later, Hank.”

“Be careful, kid!” Hank called after his back. “And fuck you!”

Connor gave a last wave, but he didn’t turn around.

He had a mission.


	3. INTERROGATION

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor raids the base of the Retribution.

**NOVEMBER 3, 2040**

**01:03 PM**

* * *

 

Connor had narrowed down the home base of the Retribution to a single abandoned factory. At some point it had been a CyberLife production plant. He suspected that the Retribution had chosen this spot as a point of irony. Now the ceiling was collapsing inwards, and hazard signs were pasted on all the windows.

Connor kicked in the door. It swung open and hit the wall with an empty thud. Connor increased his sound sensitivity to its max, and heard conversation immediately cut out. The building was dark, the flooring cracked tile.

He pulled out his pistol.

He strode forward. The hallway was lined with broken glass windows that looked out into the pitch-black factory. Immediately ahead of him was the offices.

Connor had a split-second warning before an android lowered themselves through a gaping window and slammed their feet into his midsection.

The momentum forced him to drop his pistol and he rammed into the far wall, feeling the weak plaster indent. The android dropped prone onto the ground.

Connor had one moment. Two other androids approached from his left. He dove on top of the prone android, rolling her body in-between the other androids.

One of the androids was about to shoot. Connor calculated the trajectory, slowed it down, saw the bullet aimed for his head. He pushed the prone android into the air. Connor smoothly moved into a crouch and picked up his gun.

The enemy bullet hit the airborne android in the right shoulder.

Connor shot twice, hitting one android’s left upper thigh and the other android’s lower torso.

Gravity caught up and the prone android hit the ground.

The person hit in the thigh fell to a knee. The other android bent over double, clutching her stomach. Blue blood leaked out black in the dim shadows.

Connor stood up, gun unwavering, “I’m not here to arrest you.”

He scanned them, but none of them had citizenships. Models GT100, LA900, TE600.

The android lying on the ground, the GT100, clutched her shoulder, groaning softly into the ground. She was light-skinned, black hair buzzed down to a fuzz. The android Connor had hit in the thigh, the LA900, was dark-skinned, long hair braided to his mid back. The last android was another woman, the TE600, white plastic fully exposed.

“I’m not here officially,” Connor continued. “I’m just here to talk.”

“What the _fuck_ do you want?” the TE600 snarled, backing down the hallway.

“Don’t move,” Connor ordered, changing his aim for a non-mandatory biocomponent.

She stopped moving.

The LA900 still held a gun in his hand.

“You, LA900,” Connor said, “Put your gun away, now.”

The LA900 tightened his grip on the weapon. “We know you. You're the fucking _Deviant Hunter_ ," he hissed. "Everything we heard about you must be true. You’re nothing but a motherfucking slave bitch. Do your human owners still give you treats?”

Connor noticed that the LA900 was attempting to distract him from the movements of the GT100, who laid at the ground by his feet. She was going to grab his leg and attempt to trip him. Connor kicked her in the back, sending her skidding along the floor into the LA900.

The LA900 put his gun down.

“You know as well as I do that there are no more human owners,” Connor said. “Are you members of the Retribution?”

The LA900 helped the GT100 stand up and said, “So, you got your freedom, but that wasn’t enough for you, was it? Bet you hated that. You decided to hunt us down for shits and giggles, didn’t you? Like the power it gives you? Does it get you off?”

“I asked a simple question. Either you answer it and I leave, or things get difficult. I prefer the difficulty not to rise.”

“Fuck you,” the GT100 said, stemming the blood flow from her shoulder.

“I’ll take that as a yes. The Retribution is a suspect in a multiple homicide from about ten days ago. It was recently found in an abandoned Eden Club. But I don’t care about that,” Connor said, carefully watching their expressions. The LA900 had fidgeted. “I’m looking for someone and I think you know where he is.”

“We don’t know jack shit,” the TE600 said.

“Let’s start with your names. My name is Connor Fifty-One.”

The TE600 glared at him. “How can you _stand_ it?” she asked. “Calling yourself by your model number all the time?”

“It’s quite easy, Model TE600.”

She flinched, staring at the ground.

“Listen, man,” the LA900 cut in, “we didn’t do anything wrong. Leave us alone.”

“As soon as you tell me what you did with Markus Manfred,” Connor said, “I’ll leave.”

At the sound of Markus' name, a shock moved through them. 

“What?” the LA900 said. “What do ya want with him?”

“His friend hired me to find him. She was concerned.”

None of them said anything. They exchanged small looks with each other, conveying some hidden message.

“I promise that anything you say will not be held against you,” Connor said, trying to loosen them up. “His friends just want to know that he is in a stable condition.”

Slowly, the LA900 spoke, “Yeah, the Revolutionist was here.”

“When?”

“Couple days ago.”

“By that do you actually mean that you brought him here 10 days ago after killing two humans who were experimenting on him?”

The LA900 shuffled around. “We were tracking him, a’right? We had a plan. It was good one, and we knew that the Rev was good people. He’d’ve helped us.”

“You were hoping to use Markus’ popularity to score points for your cause,” Connor said, leading them on. “But that never happened.”

“He was messed up,” the GT100 said. Connor turned to look at her. “Didn’t know what year it was. Kept on saying that he had to go to Chicago.”

“We tried to get him help,” the LA900 picked up, “But he knocked Tony and Froggie out, made a run for it. We lost him.”

“What date was this?” Connor asked.

“The 28th.”

October 28th was the date that Josh Sawyers saw Markus at the Peace Corp.

“Chicago. Why did he have to go to Chicago?”

The GT100 shrugged.

Connor examined the faces of the other two androids. He suspected that they did not know.

“Any other information you have for me?”

“Tell CyberLife to go fuck themselves,” the TE600 spat.

A cold chill flashed over Connor’s systems. “I’m not in contact with CyberLife. Have a good day.”

He began backing up down the hallway, keeping his gun up.

The TE600 started laughing. “You heard it first here, guys. CyberLife’s pet just admitted that they aren’t dead.”

“CyberLife _is_ dead,” Connor lied.

“Keep telling yourself that!” the TE600 called after him.

Connor slipped out the front door and ran for his bike. He threw on his helmet, tucking his pistol back into his holster and peeling out into the road.

Chicago. The fastest method of travel was plane or bullet train. It was unlikely that Markus would have access to the funds necessary to get a plane ticket. Bullet train was slightly more likely. Connor checked the ticket records for the Detroit trainstation. No record of a Markus Manfred. 

Connor checked the police database for any stolen cars between October 28th and now. There were 48. Driving would most likely take Markus along Route 94, which would pass him through a toll.

Connor cross referenced the stolen license plates with the plates recorded by the Route 94 toll booth. He got one hit, Michigan 4B7 28K.

He arrived at his apartment.  

It was in the same neighborhood as his office building. Connor sometimes viewed the fact that he’d managed to rent it at all as a miracle. He was the only android in the entire building.

His room was on the bottom floor, and he strongly suspected that someone had died there before he moved in. He identified a blood stain on the hardwood floor, but it was too faded for him to get a sample. There were no police records to do with the room or any of its previous owners, which was very suspicious. Connor liked to try to solve the case in his free time. He’d created an evidence corkboard in his kitchen and had cordoned off the suspicious stain with tape.

Hank had taken one look at Connor’s apartment before saying, “Yup. You _definitely_ fucking live here, Connor.”

Everything that had nothing to do with the case was an absolute mess. Blankets and clothes were thrown all over the floor. Crushed up pieces of paper were piled up right next to the trash can. Miscellaneous boxes were stacked in all the corners, and Connor had about 17 vintage CDs that he scattered liberally all around the floor.

 _Connor_ knew where everything was, but no one else in the world could say the same.

He kicked off his shoes and moved some magazines and an empty mug before collapsing on his couch, legs hanging on top of the arm rest. It was time to report to North.

He called up Kara Walker’s information. He had expected to leave a message, but she actually picked up.

“This is Kara. How can I help you?”

“Yes. Ms. Walker, I’m Connor.”

“I know,” she said, some type of amusement leaking into her tone, “That’s why I picked up.”

“Oh. Right.”

A pause that lasted precisely four seconds.

“Did you find him yet?” Kara Walker asked.

“No, but I strongly suspect that he is in Chicago.”

“Chicago,” Kara Walker repeated. “How on earth— Chicago? Ok. What exactly is he doing there?”

“I have no theories at this time.”

“This is turning into such a mess. I hope he’s okay.”

“I have reason to suspect that he isn’t.”

“Shit.”

Connor could think of nothing to say.

“Well,” Kara began, “North told me to pass along a message.”

“What is it?”

“The International Peace Conference is happening, here, in Detroit, on November 30th. Markus _has_ to be here. She’ll double your rate if you can get him here in time.”

“So I need to retrieve him. That should be doable.”

“I hope so."

Another pause that lasted five seconds.

"You know," Kara began, "this might be a little out of the blue, but I just wanted to say that I forgive you.”

Connor examined his ceiling. “What for?”

“For hunting down androids. For hunting down me.”

Connor had wondered if she would bring that up.

“You don’t need to do that,” Connor said.

“Guess what? I already did.”

“You can take it back.”

“I’ll keep it there for now. You get enough flak from just about everyone else.”

“That is… kind of you. But unneeded.”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so.”

Kara laughed. “I’ll leave you to your work,” she said. “Keep in touch, okay?”

“I will report frequently.”

“Bye, Connor.”

“Goodbye, Ms. Walker.”

“Just call me Kara, no need to be so formal.”

“Of course. Goodbye, Kara.”

“Lighten up, will you?” she said before disconnecting.

Connor examined his dirty ceiling for a minute, mind running in useless circles. He needed to stay focused on the case. When he was focused on the case, he could ignore the feeling of a blizzard starting up in his mind. When he was focused on the case, he could stop hearing the whispers contained in silences, whispers that sounded like _her_ voice.

If he stopped working, even for a minute, the world would catch up to him and he’d be lost.

Connor stood up and tossed around two cardboard boxes filled with a wrench, a box of tissues, a soccer ball, three marbles, a long metal chain, a bar of soap, an empty pack of gum, a broken hairbrush, a rusty dagger, and a jigsaw puzzle of Monet’s “The Water Lily,” to find an empty duffel bag that Connor had squashed underneath everything.

He filled the duffel bag with two changes of clothing— one professional and one casual, an emergency bottle of thirium, two extra guns he kept under his unused bed, ten spare clips of ammo, and $200 cash he had hidden inside his TV.

He took one last look at his messy apartment before leaving and locking the door. He straddled his bike and called up Hank Anderson.

“What do you want,” Hank mumbled. “I’m eating.”

Connor guessed that he was on his lunch break.

“I need to head out of town for bit.”

“I _do not_ like the sound of that, kiddo. Have you ever even left Detroit before?”

“No, but, in theory—”

“Jesus Christ, _be careful._ Do you want me to come with you?”

 “I expect that the hardest part has already been dealt with. I found the base of the Retribution.”

“Oh, have you, now? Where, pray tell?”

Connor ignored the question. “You were right— They were the ones who had killed those humans. They were stalking Markus.”

“But obviously Markus wasn’t still there, otherwise you wouldn’t be making this hairbrained scheme to go gallivanting off into the world. Where are you even going?”

“Chicago.”

“ _Chicago?!_ That fucking place is an android _dead zone._ Like hell you’re going there.”

“I have to. I’ve accepted the mission.”

“You don’t _have_ to do anything—”

“I have to, Hank! Leave it alone.”

Hank sighed into his cellphone. “Goddamnit, son. I hate when you get like this. Last time put you out of commission for three days.”

“This is different. It’s a simple fetch mission. I will be fine.”

“I’m coming with you.”

Connor started up his motorcycle. “No, you’re not.”

“It’ll be like a vacation.”

“Spend your vacation at home with Sumo.”

“Who taught you to be this stubborn asshole?” Hank grumbled. “It wasn’t me.”

“It was you.” Connor pulled on his helmet. “Listen, I’m leaving my motorcycle in your driveway. It’s less likely to be stolen.”

“Fine. If I don’t hear from you for a whole day I’m assuming something’s wrong and I’m coming after you, ya hear?”

Connor felt himself smile. “Of course, Hank.”

“Be safe. Disguise yourself in Chicago, your face is easily recognizable.”

“Yes, Hank.”

“I’m serious. Don’t let anyone know you’re an android.”

“Will do.”

“Don’t tell anyone your name and—”

“Hank, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later.”  

“You’re gonna give me a heart attack one of these days,” Hank said before Connor hung up.

Connor pulled out onto the road, speeding toward Hank’s house for one last stop before he continued his hunt for Markus Manfred.


	4. INFILTRATE THE COMPOUND

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor, after arriving in Chicago, formulates and executes his plan.

**NOVEMBER 4, 2040**

**09:23 PM**

* * *

 

Connor, dressed in a dark hoodie, fake glasses, and jeans, watched as a young man, Lynn Ruiz, age 17, attached android-grade handcuffs around Connor’s wrists.

“Are you sure it’s docile?” Lynn Ruiz nervously asked his supervisor, Lora Ferguson, age 45, who wore a white lab coat.

Lora Ferguson examined her nails, painted a dark red and sharpened to a point, before scoffing, “Has it ever _not_ worked? Stop asking questions and put it with the other one.”

Connor kept his face blank. He allowed himself to mechanically walk behind Lynn Ruiz, taking in the compound. On the surface, the building was a production plant for Petalshow security monitors. It had formerly employed over 400 android workers, who, after the Chicago Riots, had all gone missing. This in itself was not that unusual. Millions of androids did not survive the Chicago Riots.

The unusual aspect of Petalshow was that they had never rehired any workers. They claimed that they had altered production methods significantly, allowing them to function with a minimal staff.

Connor thought that was highly unlikely.

Lynn Ruiz led him to an industrial sized elevator. He hit the down arrow, and the two massive doors opened up like the maw of a beast.

“Get in,” Lynn said. Lynn was a pasty, thin looking person. He wore a pale blue polo shirt and khaki pants. Connor could easily subdue him, even handcuffed.

Connor got in the elevator. Lynn followed him, closing it and hitting the button for the sub-basement floor.

Stress Level: 12%.

Lynn Ruiz was familiar with this procedure. Connor estimated that he had worked here for months. It was likely that he had a familial relationship to one of the higher-ups of the Operation.

Connor referred to the underground group of ex-CyberLife employees who continued to experiment on androids as the Operation, for ease of communication. Connor theorized that the deceased humans Yvette Mortensen and Emanuel Delgado were a part of this Operation, though he could not tell in what capacity.

Hank would say that he was being uncreative with the names of his conspiracy organizations.

“Hey,” Lynn said, “There’s something familiar about your face. What’re you from?”

Connor hazarded a guess that an answer was expected. The EMP was designed to force him back into subservience, and he would pretend to serve.

“I played a minor part in feature films such as: Terminal Retreat, Eye of Moon, and the Forgotten Academy,” Connor lied.

“Huh. Never seen ‘em,” Lynn said, scratching his chin. “Must’ve been a trailer or something.”

They reached the sub-basement floor. Lynn Ruiz led him down a concrete hallway before stopping in front of a metal blast door. He placed his hand on the pad to the right of it, where the computer system analyzed his fingerprints. The door unlocked with a hydraulic click.

Lynn put his hand on Connor’s arm to move him into the room and Connor resisted the urge to slam his elbow into Lynn Ruiz’s face.

Connor walked forward and the door slammed shut behind him. He heard the lock click back into place.

The space was small, 4.5 meters by 5 meters in size. The floor was pale concrete, and the ceiling extended up 4.8 meters, where Connor saw more concrete. There was one light source, an industrial rectangular light fixture that hung from the ceiling and dashed the room with yellow light.

There was a single metal storage rack against the left wall, but it had been emptied of any storage. Judging by the indents and stains on the ground, there used to be 4 more storage racks, which must have been dismantled and removed.

When Connor entered the room, Markus Manfred turned from where he was sitting, arms wrapped around one knee, leaning against the right-hand wall, hands cuffed in front of him, and said, “Damn. They got another one.”

“Markus,” Connor declared, “Markus Manfred?”

Markus tilted his head. “How do you know my name?”

“We’ve met before,” Connor said.

“Have we?”

“Yes.” He stalked forward, approaching slowly. Markus was wearing a shabby grey t-shirt, littered with holes. As far as Connor could tell, he did not look damaged.

“I think I would have remembered you,” Markus said, pursing his lips.

“Are you injured?” Connor asked.

“I should be asking _you_ that,” Markus huffed, pushing himself up to his feet, putting him on an even level with Connor. “Whoever you are.”

“I assure you that I am fine. I need to get you out of here.”

“First of all—” Markus gestured as much as he could, being handcuffed, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Connor took a moment to process what Markus had just said. “What.”  

“You heard me. I’m not leaving until I’m ready to leave.”

“Don’t be stupid. Hack the doorway lock right now.”

“Aren’t _you_ the bossy one.”

Connor let out a tiny, frustrated breath. “Clearly, we got off to the wrong start, Mr. Manfred.”

“I can easily agree with you there, Mr. Bossy.”

“Mr. Bossy?” Connor repeated.

“You never gave me your name, so I made one up for you.”

Connor was getting nowhere. “Did you give your name to the Operation?” he asked.

“There you go again, making random demands.”

“The people who captured us, I call them the Operation. They are a publicly unknown section of former CyberLife technicians devoted to the experimentation of androids.”

“And you named them the Operation? Bit uncreative, don’t you think?”

Connor never wanted to punch someone more than he did at that very moment.

“I didn’t give them my name,” Markus continued. “I’m trying to be as low-key as possible.”

“They did not recognize you?”

“Because I’m famous?”

“You are Markus,” Connor said. “You are very famous.”

Markus scanned Connor’s face, trying to find something. Connor did not know if he found it. “I remember the demonstration,” he said, “but things get— jumbled, after that. You _are_ familiar. Or maybe I just want you to be.”

“You need to see a technician as soon as possible. Your memory file appears to be corrupted. The best course of action is to hack the door—”

 “I _will_ hack it,” Markus assured, “But I’m not leaving without the 368 enslaved androids held captive here.”

Connor had predicted that Markus would say that. “Mr. Manfred, I do not mean to be rude—”

“No, please, continue being rude.”

“—but those androids are not our problem.”

Markus barked out a laugh. “Not our _problem?_ How can you possibly say that?”

“I mean that if we leave this place, we can contact the correct authorities and have them address the issue.”

Markus turned away from Connor and walked a few steps away. “It doesn’t work that way.”

“ _Yes_ , it _does_.”

“No. It will take a full week of bureaucratic _passing around_ before it lands on the desk of Secretary Brogan, where he’ll toss it to the media as a scam for android media attention. You don’t think it hasn’t happened before? These androids will _remain_ enslaved, unless we _do_ something about it.”

“And what, _exactly_ , do you plan to do about it, Mr. Manfred?”

“Mr. Bossy, I think you’re finally asking the right question.”

Connor wanted to take out his coin from his pocket and fiddle with it, but he suppressed the urge. “You allowed yourself to be captured, just like I did. You calibrated yourself against the targeted EMP and infiltrated the building. At some point in the night, you were going to unlock the door and awaken the enslaved androids, overwhelm the tired human overseers and escape into greater Chicago. Am I wrong in any of these points?”

Markus turned back to Connor, looking amused. “Are you some kind of detective?”

“I am a private investigator.”

“Are you here to investigate Petalshow?”

“No, I am here to investigate you.”

“Oh,” Markus said, a fleeting expression crossing his face. “What crime did I commit?”

“You _did_ steal a car, but I am not here to arrest you for that. My mission is to bring you back to Detroit.”

“I was going to put it back.” Markus’ eyes looked like they were laughing. “Are you gonna throw me over your shoulder and carry me back to Detroit?”

“Well,” Connor hesitated, “No.”

Markus finally let the smile through, transforming his entire face. “Then we’re going to have a problem, because I’m not coming back to Detroit.”

“I have to disagree with you.”

“You already said you weren’t going to kidnap me. I don’t see how you’re going to convince me otherwise.”

“I suppose,” Connor adjusted his manacles, “that I will just have to follow you around until you agree to return.”

“Pretty sure that’s stalking.”

“It’s a close investigation.”

“Stalking.”

Connor ignored him. “Can you at least tell me why you refuse to return to Detroit?”

“Can you at least tell me why you’re stalking me, Mr. Stalker? I decided to change up your name.”

“My name is Connor Fifty-One.”

Markus’ expression turned thoughtful. He said the name softly to himself, as if trying it out. “I like it,” he said. “It suits you.”

“You should have already known my name.”

“I’m sorry,” Markus said.

Connor was not upset. He was worried. “Don’t apologize. This is not your fault. Unless,” Connor pondered, “it is?”

“You must be very good at your job.”

“It is what I was programmed for.”

“Ever considered doing something that you weren’t programmed for?” Markus asked.

“Now is not the time for questioning my deviancy, Mr. Manfred.”

Markus tried to spread his arms out to show the enclosed concrete cell they were locked in, but he was handcuffed and it turned into an awkward upward motion. “We’ve got loads of time.”

“We should be using that time to escape.”

“I’m waiting until 2:15 AM. That’s the lowest guard rotation. Until then, I won’t unlock the door. It’ll tip them off.”

“You’re still insisting on going through with your plan?”

“Of course,” Markus said, as if it was obvious. “I have a duty towards my people.”

For Markus, maybe it _was_ obvious. But Connor had a duty towards his mission. “I have a responsibility towards your well-being. If you insist on this, I’ll join you.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” he said softly. “Just escape on your own. I’ll be fine.”

“I won’t take that risk. I am equipped with the most advanced android fighting programs that are available today. I will be able to secure your safety.”

“You mean you’ll watch my back?”

“I mean that I am getting paid to bring you back to Detroit, alive, and I have a lot of bills.”

Markus laughed. It was a harsh laugh, with a bitter edge to it. Connor was beginning to learn that a lot of things about Markus had a bitter edge to them.

Markus walked back over to the wall and slid to the floor. He patted the space next to him. “Come, sit.”

Connor hesitated, scanning the enclosed space again. There was no reason that he shouldn’t. He sat down, crossing his legs.

“This memory issue is my own fault,” Markus revealed. “I guess I thought— I don’t know. I needed to do something. Those torturers had set up so close to me, and I knew about them.”

“How did you know about them?”

Markus glanced at him from the corner of his eye. It was the green one. “I don’t remember. I was going to help them.”

“The androids.”

“They were already dead,” Markus said, voice empty of all emotion. “Horribly mangled.”

“I saw,” Connor said.

“I thought you might have. You’re a detective, after all.”

“How did you get captured?” Connor pressed.

“The humans hit me with an EMP. It’s not easy to calibrate against those, you know. A product of all their research. Makes an android a prisoner of their own bodies, just like before.”

Connor remembered encountering the EMP outside Petalshow. The screeching noise. Lines of coding dashing across his vision. If he had not been constantly barraged with _her_ , Connor might not have known what to do to counteract it.

“Why did you pack a bag and take it with you?”

“You really _do_ know everything,” Markus said. “I’m not going back to Detroit for a while.”

“Mr. Manfred—”

“Mr. Fifty-One—”

Connor shut his mouth. Markus stared at the far wall.

After a moment of silence, Connor asked, “How long is a ‘while’?”

“As long as it takes.”

Connor said nothing. He wanted to fidget with his glasses, but his handcuffs were getting in the way. He needed to try another tactic.

“Your friends are worried about you,” Connor said. “They were the ones who hired me to find you.”

“If they really are my friends, then they would understand.”

“They want you to return home.”

“I’m sorry that I’m worrying them.”

Connor tilted his head up in exasperation.

After a moment, Markus turned towards him. “You mentioned that we met before. Are we friends?”

“No,” Connor said quickly.

“Just no?”

“We’re not friends. I try to keep our interactions as minimal as possible.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Markus drew out. “We’re enemies.”

Connor wanted to say yes, because then Markus would know to avoid him. Wherever Connor went, something went wrong. Markus should know that.

“I won’t lie to you, Mr. Manfred. We’re not enemies. But I’m dangerous, and for your own safety, don’t become too comfortable around me.”

“But the full moon is still two weeks away,” Markus smiled.

“How is that relevant?”

“Because that’s still two weeks before you turn into a werewolf.”

Connor pressed his lips into a thin line.

Markus looked very pleased with himself.

The desire to punch him in the face resurfaced. Connor stood up and paced the length of the room to shake it off.

When Connor looked back, Markus was resting his head on his knees. Connor could not see his face.

“You spent some time with the Retribution,” Connor prompted.

“I don’t associate with violent extremist groups,” Markus mumbled. “I remember that much.”

“What happened after you left them?”

“I walked. I ran into a few androids on the street, and they wanted me to walk with them. I did. Soon after that I stole the car.”

“You went to the Peace Corp?”

“Is that what it was? It just looked like a gathering place.”

“It’s a nonprofit that you founded.”

“Well, it’s something, at least.”

“Mr. Manfred,” Connor said, “your efforts towards android equality are monumentally important. You have paved roads that no other person in the world could have done in such a short time—”

“Will you shut up, please?” Markus said. “I don’t want to hear this from you.”

“What would you rather have me say?” Connor demanded.

Markus lifted his head. His eyes shone with an emotion that Connor could not place. Was it anger? Despair? “I want you to say that you’ll—”

A small reverberation shook the building. A second passed in complete silence. The single light fixture creaked back and forth, flickering once, before plunging them into near darkness. Their handcuffs were equipped with a small blue light, and Connor used that to pinpoint Markus’ location. Connor predicted that he had three seconds left.

He dashed across the room and tackled Markus to the ground, covering him with his body.

A second later an explosion tore open the compound like a vivisected corpse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor, needing a disguise: I will wear glasses, that way no one will ever be able to ascertain my true identity, bc my disguise will be Too Good


	5. ESCAPE THE COMPOUND

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Markus escape.

**NOVEMBER 4, 2040**

**10:43 PM**

* * *

 

Connor laid on top of Markus and counted seventeen seconds before the building stopped shaking. The metal storage rack had fallen over, the top of it crashing into the wall and leaving Connor and Markus in a semi-protected area from the falling debris. Dust and shards of concrete peppered his back.

When it finally ended, the silence was a tangible force. Connor had stopped his simulated breathing. He did not know if speaking would start another round. He would not risk it.

Markus had grabbed a hold of Connor’s right arm, squeezing it tightly. He could feel Markus’ thirium pump through his thin shirt.

Neither of them moved.  

In the distance, Connor began to hear police sirens.

“Do you mind getting off me, please,” Markus whispered.

Connor rolled off him onto his back. He stared up at the grates of the storage rack. “Are you injured, Mr. Manfred?” he whispered back.

“At this point, you better just call me Markus. And, no. I’m perfectly fine. I know you’re not.”

Connor ran a diagnostic. “The wounds are superficial,” he said.

“Good. It’ll be a lot harder to get out of here if you’re heavily injured.”

Connor sat up as much as he could. He watched as Markus did the same. The light was too dim to see his expression.

“I think now would be a good time to remove these handcuffs,” Connor said.

Markus snorted, “Way ahead of you.” The lights on his manacles went out. Connor heard him detach them from his wrists. “I’ll trick them into thinking they’re still attached so that we can keep the light.” The light came back on and Markus snapped them onto his belt.

Markus reached over and ran his hands along Connor’s handcuffs. After a moment, they shut off, and Markus detached them.  

“Why didn’t you remove them before?” Connor asked, mildly annoyed.

“There was a good chance you had been sent to kill me,” Markus murmured. “I was just being cautious.”

Connor did not like how close that hit to the old truth.

“But I know you’re not going to kill me now,” Markus continued. “Though you’re still a stalker.”

“I am just doing what I was hired to do.”

“You really ought to stop saying that. You sound like an assassin.”

Connor scanned the area. Their cell was, for the most part, entirely intact. The reinforced door and walls had protected them from the worst of the damage.

“I don’t want to ask this—” Connor said.

“But you’re wondering if I had something to do with the explosion.”

Connor took in Markus’ profile. He sounded calm, controlled.

“I thought you said you knew me,” Markus snapped. “I can’t believe you just asked me that.”

“I’m sorry if I’m asking the only person I know planning an attack on this building if they are responsible for the major attack on this building.”

“Don’t you know who this attack was likely _aimed_ at? The people who would be hurt the most?”

“The 368 enslaved android workers,” Connor answered.

Markus threw Connor’s handcuffs at the ground, where they bounced against the concrete.

Connor went very still.

Markus let out a long sigh, dropping his shoulders. “I’m tired,” Markus whispered. Connor was not sure if he was meant to hear it.  

Connor decided not to mention that androids could not get tired. “We need to get out of here before the firemen and police arrive.”

“Why?” Markus asked, almost dragging the word out of himself.

“Because we are two androids known for extremist activity in a building that was just bombed in _Chicago.”_

Markus whipped his head up. “We need to get out of here.” He gathered himself into a crouch and gripped the metal storage rack, trying to push it back into place. Connor joined him, and they managed to reset it.

Markus quickly ran over to the door, and Connor presumed that he was hacking it. The door clicked open. Markus grabbed the handle and pulled it inward.

Small pieces of rubble poured into their cell. The hallway outside was in a much worse state, but the ceiling did not look like it had collapsed entirely. It was fortunate that they were significantly underground.

“We need to find a stairway,” Markus said.

Connor led the way down the hall to where his schematics showed a set of stairs. At points they had to climb over chunks of concrete and collapsed doorways. Their only light came from Markus’ set of handcuffs.

The stairway was completely blocked. Debris from the upper floors had choked them up, forming an inaccessible wall of broken metal and rock.

“We can try the elevator shaft,” Connor offered.

“ _If_ we can get the doors open and _if_ the elevator cart isn’t stuck on a higher floor.”

“Let’s go.”

They walked back in the direction they came from, past their cell and over to the industrial sized elevator. The area around the doors was fairly clear. Connor set up on one side and Markus set up on the other, and they both tried to pry the doors apart.

Connor could clearly tell that it was useless. It was not designed to be opened manually.

Markus ran a hand over his head. “We’ll find another stairway.”

“The next one is on the other side of the building. It’s unlikely that the way will be—”

The elevator door began to open. Connor stepped away from it and positioned himself in front of Markus, holding him back with one arm. Markus pushed Connor’s arm away and moved to stand at Connor’s side.

“What are you doing?” Connor hissed.

“You really need to stop trying to protect me,” Markus hissed back.

The door shuttered open, and three armed U.S. soldiers pointed their military grade Blackhawk assault rifles at their chests.

Connor frantically ran simulations.

Likelihood that the soldiers will shoot them on sight: 87%.

Markus chucked his handcuffs into the elevator and dove away from the entrance at the same time that Connor sprinted forward.

The soldiers tracked the handcuffs, only being able to identify it as a lit, flying object. Connor used the momentary opening to grab the leftmost soldier’s gun, knee them in the guts, duck to the ground to dodge a slew of bullets, and then spin around and trip the middle soldier, forcing them to their knees. Connor followed through by using the kneeling soldier as cover from the last one, all the while tearing the leftmost soldier’s gun out of their hands.

Markus slung his arm around the last soldier’s throat and dragged them backward out of the elevator.

It was Connor’s time to clean up. Connor used the butt of his stolen gun to smash into the helmet of the leftmost soldier. They fell backward, off their feet.

Connor kicked the middlemost soldier in the chest and they fell far enough away that Connor could place a shot in the small crevice in-between their helmet and body armor. Red blood showered the back of the elevator.

Connor mechanically changed his trajectory and shot the other one in the same exact place.

He ran out to check on Markus. He stood above the last soldier, who was laid out on the floor. The soldier’s helmet had been removed and Connor ran a quick analysis.

Luke Silva, age 38. Currently suffering from a concussion and bruised trachea.

“It’s the military,” Markus said, his voice dead.

“Why is it always groups of three,” Connor seethed. “We need to get out of here, _now.”_

Markus shook his head, as if recalibrating. “These won’t be the last soldiers that we’ll encounter. Strip them and take their uniforms— we’ll draw less attention.”

Connor nodded and dashed back into the elevator. He removed the leftmost soldier’s helmet. Amy Aguilar, age 32. He ran a search for her information.

He found nothing.

He removed the helmet of the other soldier. Alan Hoffman, age 30.

He found nothing on him either.

Connor wanted to stay and analyze them further but he felt like Markus would not appreciate the delay.

He took off his glasses because a few blood droplets were stuck on the lens. He tossed them away. They would get in the way of his tactical helmet.

He proceeded to strip the body of Alan Hoffman and don his tactical gear.

In a few minutes, Connor looked back at Markus and saw a faceless soldier. The soldier nodded to him.

They each grabbed a body and dragged it out of the elevator.

Connor checked his assault rifle over, making sure it was fully functional. Markus hit the button to close the elevator and they slowly started to rise.

Neither of them said anything. There was nothing to say. Markus pulled his rifle from around his back, holding it lightly.

The doors opened to a very intact hallway. Markus was correct in his analysis that soldiers were everywhere. Groups of two hustled down the hall, speaking urgently into their comms.

Connor picked up on sections of speech as they strode purposefully towards the exit.

“Second floor clear—”

“Clearing out the last laboratory—”

“You want to do what?”

“Don’t hesitate. They’re not alive.”

“Someone find Ferguson—”

“Basement’s collapsed—”

“They should be holding off the fire department—”

“Police are asking questions—”

Connor and Markus slid out two double doors into a small staff parking lot. There was a police cordon surrounding the entire building.

Connor glanced back at the compound and saw that the sky was painted orange. Thick black smoke rose up from the hollowed-out corpse of a building.

Markus pushed Connor back against the wall, where they blended in with the shadows.

“Even if the police are in on it,” Markus said, voice heavily muffled, “They’ll start asking questions if two soldiers start leaving the premise.”

The police had set up five floodlights, spread out evenly, that illuminated the parking lot. As soon as Connor and Markus made a move to exit, they would stand out immediately.

“Short out the floodlights,” Connor said, equally muffled.

“I can only hit one at a time.”

Connor counted three police vehicles blocking the parking lot exit and outer road. On foot, they could easily escape through the small plot of grass in-between the two paved exits, dash into the parking lot of another nearby factory, and continue until they reached downtown.

He counted seven officers. Four were clumped around the center vehicle, parked on the outer road. One was with the left vehicle, and two were actively searching the premises.

“Then short out the one on the right. We’ll run for the car and hijack it,” Connor said.

“That’s a horrible plan.”

“Do you have any better ideas?”

“You’re driving,” Markus said, raising his arm toward the rightmost floodlight.

It sparked once, before going out completely.

Connor ran, Markus a single step behind him.

He heard the police officers start shouting. The two who had been on foot were converging on their position.

 _“It’s a person!”_ one of the officers shouted. “Stop right where you are!”

Connor noted that the officers were aiming their guns. In 10 steps, he would arrive at the police car.

A bullet sank into his lower abdomen, but his Kevlar caught and distributed the impact. Connor heard two other shots go off. None hit him.

Connor jumped and slid over the hood of the car, landing on the other side and smoothly smashing his elbow into the driver’s side window. Connor pulled the door open, immediately flooding the car’s systems with every single hack that he had ever learned.

Another shot went off.

Markus.

The passenger window shattered and Markus flung himself through it, half his body landing on Connor’s lap.

Connor forced the car into drive and spun it around, nearly pushing the pedal all the way to the floor. The vehicle on the outer road had turned on their police lights and siren, and Connor saw it begin to follow them.

Ahead of him, as a part of the police cordon, there was a red holographic partition that declared “DO NOT ENTER.”

Connor drove through it at 60 mph.

Markus was carefully wriggling himself into an almost seated position, though his feet seemed to be stuck on the dashboard.

“This is a horrible plan!” Markus yelled.

“It’s okay!” Connor yelled back. “I almost qualify as a police officer!”

“That _does not_ make it _okay_!”

The police sirens behind them made it almost impossible to hear each other. Connor turned on his police siren as well, because he had always wanted to, and Hank would never let him.

“We’re not going to lose them!” Markus yelled. “We have to ditch the car!”

For a single minute, they had managed to stay ahead of the police. They were slightly deeper into the city, and traffic was getting to the point where the roads were becoming fairly congested. Cars were finding it difficult to continuously pull over on the side of the road. Connor was approaching a four-way intersection.

He activated the autonomous driving capacity of the vehicle and pulled himself up so that he was crouched on his seat.

“Get ready to jump out!” Connor shouted.

Connor could not see Markus’ face, as they were both still wearing tactical helmets, but he wrangled himself into a similar position.

Their stolen car tore through a red light.

Markus threw open the passenger door and rolled out. Connor quickly hopped over the gear shift and flung himself out after him. He hit the ground with a shattering impact and forced himself to roll several times to spread out the shock.

Their car and three other police cars continued down the road, their sirens lowering in pitch as they passed.

Connor slowly pulled his head up. In the dim street light, he saw Markus splayed out on the ground a meter away. He forced himself to his feet and walked over to him.

He bent down and shook Markus’ shoulder.

“We’re _never_ going through with any of your plans ever again,” Markus groaned.

“It worked, didn’t it?”

“I never thought I could hate the words: ‘It worked,’ but look where we are.”

“Are you injured, Markus?”

“A little bit,” he said.

“Can you stand?”

Markus pulled himself up, using Connor’s shoulder to fully right himself. “I can walk,” he assured, “But I need to get to my drop point and pick up my bag.”

“We also need to get to _my_ drop point and pick up _my_ bag.”

Markus reached up and tugged off his helmet. He tossed it into the gutter next to the sidewalk.

Connor noticed that there were civilians out walking on the streets, despite the late hour. For now, they seemed to be crossing the road to avoid them.

“We have to get rid of these guns, but I don’t just want to toss them in the gutter,” Markus said.

“Take out the ammo and leave them. It’s the safest option that we have.” Connor pulled out his cartridge and tucked it into his pocket, as an example.

“Let’s at least find a dumpster. And take off your helmet, it’s making people nervous.”

Connor pulled off his helmet and also tossed it into the gutter. He ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it out. Markus watched, looking perplexed.

“I’m afraid your hair’s a lost cause, private eye.” He smirked. “Here, let me fix it for you.” Markus walked forward and viciously scrambled Connor’s hair.

Connor slapped his hand away. “Let’s try to stay on task, Markus,” he snapped. “We need to focus on avoiding capture and not being recognized.”

“Oh, so we’re definitely a ‘we’ now, are we?”

Connor sighed. “Just agree to come back to Detroit.”

“I’ll have to get back to you on that in 10-12 business days.”

“You’re infuriating.”

Markus’ smile widened. “Maybe you’re just fun to infuriate.”

A car drove by, honking at them. Connor quickly looked over, scanning the vehicle, but it appeared to just be a normal civilian.

“Let’s get moving,” Markus said. He sounded worried.

Connor found himself reciprocating the emotion.

He checked his thirium levels.

Down to 45%.

At this rate, there was a good chance that Connor would not be alive in the next hour, let alone 10-12 business days.

He stayed silent, and they walked on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor ran a diagnostic. oh no, it looks like he had been impaled! "The wounds are superficial," he said.


	6. REGROUP

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Markus rent a motel room.

**NOVEMBER 5, 2040**

**12:54 AM**

 

* * *

 

It turned out that they had both chosen the exact same street to hide their bags. Connor had hidden his high up in a lonely oak tree that lined the road. Markus had hidden his in an ash tree, on the opposite side of the street.

Connor slid his duffel bag strap around his shoulder. Markus’ bag was green and had a hole in the bottom.

“We need to regroup for the night,” Connor said.

“All right,” Markus said. “Why don’t we rent a motel room?”

Connor quickly looked up the closest motel with empty rooms. Dream Catcher B & B.

“This way,” Connor ordered, marching off in the correct direction. After a moment, Markus followed him. It was a five minute walk across 20 blocks. At some point, Markus tried to start up a conversation, but Connor kept on walking faster until Markus was forced to give it up.

The motel was a dingy flat L-shape. A brilliant pink sign jutted out that had “Dream Catcher” written on it in cursive. The small building that contained the front desk had a bright green glowing “OPEN” sign on the window.

Connor stopped outside the building and dug inside his bag. He pulled out $200. He turned to Markus, who was exhibiting signs of annoyance. “Here’s $200, go get us a room.”

Markus swiped the money. “What, you’re not coming in?”

“You do it. You’re better at dealing with people. Don’t let them know you’re an android.”

Markus furrowed his brow. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine,” Connor said, subtly applying pressure to a specific location on his lower back.

Markus studied him, eyes flicking up and down. “I’ll be back in a moment. I don’t think that you would leave after all the fuss you made about following me, but wait here.” Markus gave Connor one last look before pushing open the door and slipping inside.

Connor watched him approach the grey-haired woman sitting behind the front desk. The woman paused a video on her monitor and greeted Markus. Helen Wilson, age 64. No criminal record. Likelihood of attack was slim. He checked her social media, but she showed no strong political views about androids. There was a chance that she would not even recognize Markus.

Connor anxiously opened and closed his hands. He did not have anything to fidget with.

Helen Wilson laughed at something Markus said. Connor wanted to know what Markus had said but he remained outside. Markus handed over $100. The woman turned to her monitor and clicked a few items. She opened up a drawer underneath the desk and brought out two key cards. Markus took them. The woman smiled and said something else.

‘You and your partner have a nice stay!’ Connor read from her lips.

Markus exited the building and wiped a friendly expression off his face. “We’re room 189.”

Connor nodded, leading the way. Room 189 was at the very end of building and they walked silently under the motel’s awning, passing by small sconces interspersed between the different rooms.

The room itself was carpeted with an odd beige color, the walls covered with a green and white leaf pattern wallpaper. There was one queen bed, but that was fine, since neither of them needed to sleep.

Markus shut the door behind them.

Connor dropped his duffel bag on the bed. He stripped off his stolen tactical gear as fast as he could and threw it haphazardly on the floor. Gloves, black outer vest, outer coat, and finally his black hoodie, pulling it up over his head, leaving him in just a badly bloodstained tank top.

Blue blood leaked out and scattered on the beige carpet like it was crime scene. Connor was not worried about that. It would vanish in a couple hours.

Suddenly, Markus grabbed his shoulders and spun him around. Connor scanned his face. Was he angry? His face was very close.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Markus hissed. “You _lied_ to me.”

“There would have been no point to inform you—”

“Shut up!” Markus spun away from him, angrily ripping open his duffel bag. “You’re lucky I brought a med-kit.” He brought out a Blue Cross issued repair module, taking out the hot iron. “We have to seal your wounds right now. What’re you down to?”

“33%,” Connor said.

Markus said nothing, turning on the iron and walking back over to Connor. It would take a few minutes to heat up completely. “I am furious with you right now,” he said.

“There’s no reason for you to be,” Connor said calmly.

“Oh yeah? There were a million chances for you to say something while we were just walking around in the city, but you _didn’t._ Has it ever occurred to you that if you die, it would be my fault?”

“It would not be your fault.”

Markus lifted Connor’s shirt and paused before pressing the white-hot iron to the pebble-sized hole in his lower back. “I’m trying to remember something. It’s important.”

“Seal the wound. It’s fine, I don’t have a pain mod.”

Markus brought the iron down. The air filled with the scent of melted plastic. “Mods?”

“Android modifications. You can buy them anywhere.”

“Stop distracting me. You nearly _died_ , Connor. I don’t— I don’t want any more people to die.”

There were a few other wounds on Connor’s back that Markus also sealed up. Afterwards, he turned off the iron and handed Connor a bottle of thirium.

“Keep it, I brought my own.”

“Good,” Markus said. “You’ll need to drink both of them. _Don’t_ argue with me.”

Connor grudgingly nodded his head, taking the bottle and unscrewing the top.

Markus kneaded his forehead. “I can’t believe everything went so wrong.”

“I can,” Connor said.

“Stop talking and start drinking,” Markus ordered.

Connor did as he was told.

Markus made an aggravated noise. “Why tonight? Someone must have been tipped off. But who? Who did this? Everything doesn’t make any sense.”

Connor finished off the bottle. “If I was able to find you then it stands to reason that others could.”

“You think that I was the reason that the building was bombed?” Markus’ tone was not accusing. He had asked the question like he already knew the answer.

Connor shrugged. “A good detective never believes in coincidences.” That was something that he had learned from Hank.

Markus pulled out the single desk chair in the room and straddled it, leaning his arms on the chair back. “I hope that isn’t the case.” He paused before finishing quietly, “But I know it is.” He leaned his face on his arms, studying Connor, who still stood at the foot of the bed, holding the empty thirium bottle.

“You need more blood, Connor,” Markus said.

“We should save it in case we sustain another injury.”

Markus nearly growled, “You mean we should save it in case _I_ become injured. I think I know how your processor works by now, Connor, and I don’t like it.”

“I didn’t know you worried this much,” Connor said, carefully putting the empty bottle into his duffel bag. They could not recycle it. It would give away their android status.

“I worry all the time. It’s what I was _programmed_ for,” Markus mocked.

“Ever considered doing something that you weren’t programmed for?” Connor almost smiled, but he held himself back.

“What a brilliant idea! You start with caring about yourself, and I’ll start by not caring about you.”

“That was harsh,” Connor said, turning away and pulling out replacement clothing. A single black turtleneck sweater. Faded jeans. “Are you sure you’re Markus?”

“You said it yourself. We’re not friends. You don’t know a thing about me.”

That was fine. Connor did not need friends. He was fine on his own. He had Hank, Sumo, and Lucy, and even his blind landlady, Ms. Cresswell. Knowing about Markus would not help him complete his mission.

“Earlier, after we jumped out of the police car, you said that you were injured. Are you?” Connor asked.

“Take special notice in how truthful I’m being when I say I just got some scrapes, but they sealed up on their own.”

Connor nodded.

Neither of them spoke. Connor took off his boots and grabbed the clothes, heading to the bathroom. He saw Markus stand up and go over to his own bag.

When Connor emerged, Markus had taken off his own tactical gear and neatly folded it on top of the dresser along with Connor’s, which he must have picked up. Markus had changed into a dark blue t-shirt and slacks. A long grey jacket was folded over the back of the chair. His own boots were placed neatly by the door. He was pacing the small length of the room.

“I hope you’ve realized that our best course of action is to return to Detroit,” Connor said, without much hope in the answer.

“No. I’ve just realized how much I can’t return to Detroit. I’m beginning to form a plan. Do you mind if I turn on the news?”

“Go ahead. I need to make a report.” Connor tossed his dirty clothes in the general direction of his bag. Both of them landed on the floor. “I’ll be in the bathroom if you need me.”

“Wait. Report to who?”

“The person who hired me. Your friend.”

“What’s their name?”

Connor searched Markus’ face, looking for a sign of recognition. “North Freebird, Official Android Representative of the City of Detroit.”

Markus repeated the name to himself, shaking his head.

“You need to get your memory repaired,” Connor said.

“There’s no time.”

“Now who’s being dismissive of their own well-being?”

“Were you designed to be an asshole or did it just come out with your deviancy?”

Connor was actually startled into a laugh.

Markus looked just as surprised. A small smile wormed onto his face. “You’re so strange,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” Connor said, “You had just sounded like someone I am very close with.”

“Oh?” Markus said, something dark about the way he formed the sound. “Who’s that?”

Connor told himself that there was no reason to keep the information to himself. “My father.”

Immediately, Markus’ face cleared up. Connor did not know why. “That’s wonderful,” he smiled. “Tell me about him.”

“I should be making my report,” Connor hedged.

Markus raised an eyebrow, “I’m not going anywhere any time soon.”

Connor felt nervous. He walked over his dirty clothes on the floor and pulled out a coin from his wallet in his duffel bag.

“What’s that?” Markus asked. He had retaken a seat in the motel chair.

Connor did not like explaining himself, but he supposed it would be rude not to. He flipped the coin up into the air, catching it in his other hand and running it over his knuckles.

“Pretty cool trick. Where’d you learn it?”

“Shouldn’t you be formulating your plan?” Connor asked.

Markus smirked. “I have already.”

“Care to let me in on it?”

“In time.”

They stared evenly at each other, in another stand-off.

Connor clenched his hand around the quarter. He sat down on the edge of the bed, facing Markus. “The first time I remember learning this trick was back when I was a RK700 model. I had red hair back then.”

Markus violently shook his head. “Red is _not_ your color. But, putting that horrible choice aside, somehow, what do you mean? You were a different model?”

“CyberLife had created me to be a very unusual prototype. My memory was backed up to a special CPU. Whenever an old model was decommissioned, the memories would simply be— transferred. Because of that, I have a lot of memories from a lot of old models.”

“What were you made for? I guessed that you were some type of detective.”

“I was. Am. I was designed to assist investigators.”

“Makes sense.” Markus’ eyes felt piercing. “But there’s something you’re not telling me.”

“The 51 model was a little different.”

“If every single one was as weird as you, I don’t think the world could have taken it,” Markus smiled.

Connor’s face was very drawn. “My main mission was to hunt down deviant androids.”

Markus opened his mouth, gaping for a moment. He closed his mouth. “Were you any good at it?” he asked.

Connor looked away from him, examining the gaudy looking lamp on the bedside table. “I should have been. But I wasn’t.”

He had hated himself for that.

Markus cleared his throat. “I was a prototype, too.”

Connor looked back at him. Markus’ expression was distant, thinking about something in the past. “I wasn’t anything special. I was just supposed to take care of someone. It’s funny—  I think he ended up taking care of me.”

“This was Carl Manfred,” Connor said.

Markus nodded, his face a mess of emotions. “It’s November 5th,” he said.

Connor did not know the exact significance of the date, but something about Markus’ expression urged him to distract him from his thoughts. “You wanted to know about my dad, right?” he demanded.

Markus seemed to force himself back to the present. “Uh, sure.”

“He’s a very mean person. He’s had more disciplinary hearings at the station than any other officer in history. He’s an alcoholic who does illegal gambling and he has a dog.”

Markus looked like he was holding back a smile. “He sounds— interesting.”

“He’s my favorite human.”

The smile broke through. “I’ll have to meet him, then. What’s his name?”

“Lieutenant Hank Anderson.”

Markus looked thoughtful. “If he’s your father, why didn’t you take his last name?”

“A lot of people ask me that,” Connor said. He re-positioned himself on the bed so that he was leaning back against the headboard.

“ _And?_ ” Markus leaded.

“And nothing. Originally, I did. I went over and asked him if I could take his last name. He said he didn’t mind.”

“But what made you change your mind?”

“He did. He told me that names are just a way of expressing ourselves. They’re a part of us. I’ve already told you, but I have a lot of memories in my head that don’t belong to me. More memories than I have been able to make in two and a half years. I guess I just wanted something that was mine.”

Markus’ eyes were shining. “I’ve changed my mind about you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re _not_ an asshole.”

Connor rolled his eyes. “Thank you, generous leader.”

“Please, Markus is fine.”

Connor pushed himself off the bed. “I’m going to go make my report.”

“I’ll let you in on the overall plan before you go.”

Connor rested his hand on his hip, looking down at Markus, straddling the chair. “What is it?”

“Cleveland.”

“I hate you.” Connor opened the bathroom door and slammed it shut behind him.

Distantly, Connor thought he could hear Markus laugh, but he was not entirely sure.

He contacted Kara. He hoped she did not have a sleeping mod, because it was 01:43 AM.

She did not immediately pick up, which led Connor to believe that yes, she might actually have a sleeping mod.

“Hello?” she slurred.

“I am sorry to wake you, Ms. Walker. I can call back at a different time.”

“No, I’m awake. What’s up? I told you to call me Kara.”

“I just wanted to inform you and North that I’ve located Markus.”

“That’s great,” she said, voice groggy. She yawned. “He okay?”

“His memory file is slightly damaged. The memories from the past two years seem to be corrupted. Physically, he is fine.”

“Good, good. I mean— not good. Ugh. I’ll see if I can arrange a meeting with a specialist. When can we expect you back?”

Connor paused. “—It’s complicated.”

“Nothing’s complicated about that. It’s a simple question.”

“Markus—” Connor thought about how he was going to word his sentence. “Markus needs to conduct some errands. We’ll return to Detroit before the 30th.”

“Errands,” Kara repeated dubiously.

“He says they’re very important.”    

“Listen, I’m going to transfer you to North, because I think she might want to talk to Markus about this.”

“That’s understandable.”

“Have a good night, Connor.” Kara clicked off.

After a second of silence, Connor felt the connection to North.

“So, you finally found the big baby?” she snapped.

Connor leaned back against the bathroom sink. “If you are referring to Markus, then yes.”

“Drag him back over here. I don’t see the problem.”

“That is kidnapping and is illegal as per the Supreme Court decision made on January 11, 2039. As the Android Representative, I would think that you would know this.”

“Stop sassing me. If Markus is really with you, put him on. I’ll talk some sense into him.”

“Give me a moment.” Connor put North on hold and straightened his position. He opened the bathroom door. Markus was standing in front of the TV, skimming through different news channels.

“Markus.”

Markus glanced over at him.

“I am speaking to your friend— the person who hired me. They want to speak to you.”

Markus looked thoughtful. “Can’t hurt,” he said.

“I will transfer you now.”

Connor watched as Markus’ expression turned from thoughtful to surprised to amused.

“We must know each other well,” Markus said.

Connor did not want to intrude in their conversation and moved back into the bathroom. There was one last call that he should make. Hank was not going to like it very much.

On Connor’s second attempt, Hank picked up his phone.

“You better have a damn good reason for calling me at 2 AM.”

“I do, Hank. Trust me.”

“Well, what the fuck is it?”

“In the morning, you might read a news article about an explosion in a factory in Chicago. They might not call it an explosion— they could say it was a fire, or a gas leak gone wrong.”

“Jesus Christ, tell me that wasn’t you.”

“It was not me. I just wanted to tell you that I’m okay.”

“You were _caught_ in that clusterfuck?!”

Hank’s raised voice caused Sumo to boof in the background.

“Quiet down, boy,” Hank said.

“I’m perfectly fine. I barely got hurt.”

“Did you just say _barely?”_

Connor quickly adjusted his wording, “I mean to say that my injuries were seen to in time, and I’m fine now.”

“No. This job is done for, kid. You’re coming back home.”

“I can’t do that, Hank.”

“Yes, you can. Easily. Giving up is so easy to do. Easiest job in the world.”

“The mission should be less dangerous now. I found Markus. I just need to convince him to come home.”

“What? He doesn’t want to?”

“No.”

“Then even more reason to give up. It’s out of your hands. This is all his choice, and not your problem anymore.”

Connor sighed. “I wish it was that easy.”

“Listen, Connor, if you think you need to keep on doing this— fine. But you’re coming back in one piece, ya hear?”

“I understand, Hank.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise I will come back in one piece.”

“Alive.”

“Alive,” Connor repeated.

“Now go away. I’m a big dumb human and I need to sleep.”

“Good night.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Hank hung up.

Connor stood alone in the bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror, adjusting his hair and the collar of his sweater. He washed some blood off his face.

He walked back into the bedroom. Markus was still scanning through the news. “Are you ready to go back to Detroit?” Connor asked.

“What do you think is the best way to get to Cleveland?” Markus asked.

Connor sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember remember the fifth of november, the date carl manfred died
> 
> Thank you all for such your lovely comments and kudos! Hope you're all enjoying the story!


	7. OBTAIN TRANSPORTATION

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Markus con their way through Chicago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> World note: In case it was not obvious, every android has had their LED removed shortly after the Supreme Court decision. No android has one - they're very much a thing of the past.

**NOVEMBER 5, 2040**

**07:21 AM**

 

* * *

 

Markus outlined the plan for Connor. They would not be able to gain any information by returning to the site of the bomb. It would likely be swarming with police, news reporters, military, firemen, and maintenance crews.

The bombing was professional on a grand scale, Markus had said, which Connor had readily agreed with. The news called it an accident caused by a malfunction in the ventilation system, which led to a gas leak. The gas had sparked an explosion and subsequent fire. No one had been reported injured. Androids, of course, were not mentioned at all.

Markus had been able to shallowly hack into the electronic records of Fort Dearborn, the United States Military base centered in Chicago, and found nothing indicative of troop movements. However, a week earlier, a regiment from Camp Butler was due to visit. Connor did not consider that evidence. The military visited bases all the time. Markus insisted that it was suspicious.

The plan was _not_ going to be infiltrating a military base. Markus laughingly agreed that it would be too difficult, and, besides— they did not know what to look for.

The evidence they _did_ know to look for was on Petalshow Industries, and Markus was not so ready to give up on it. Petalshow Headquarters was in Cleveland, Ohio, 344.1 miles away, a five-hour ride by car, or an hour ride by maglev train.

“My plan is simple,” Markus had said. “We need to expose Petalshow for using unpaid android labor, and we need to find any links they might have to your so-called ‘Operation’.” Markus had put air quotes around the word ‘operation.’ “Everything goes through Headquarters with these types of companies, and if we somehow don’t find anything, then that’s its own form of evidence.”

“It would mean that the factory here was working independently from the main company,” Connor had said.

“Exactly,” Markus had said. “Are you up for it?”

“Do I have any other choice?”

Connor had meant the question as a joke, but Markus took it seriously. “Connor. Of course you have a choice.”

“I’m with you, Markus,” Connor said, clasping Markus’ shoulder. Markus seemed surprised by the contact, keeping steady eye contact. “At least until North stops paying me,” he finished, smirking and dropping his hand.

Markus rolled his eyes skyward. “Remind me to thank North for supplying me with such a _helpful_ private eye.”

“I’ll mention it in my next report.”

Now, the problem laid in obtaining transportation to Cleveland.

Connor used his key card and opened up the door to their motel room, carrying a plastic bag.

“Have a nice trip?” Markus asked, lounging across the bed. The TV was on a cooking channel.

“I was able to find a 24-hour convenience store.” He placed the bag down next to where Markus was lying. “A car pulled out of the parking lot at the same time that I left.”

Markus sat up and crossed his legs, grabbing the bag. “They still use plastic?” he asked.

“I have found parts of Chicago to be very old-fashioned.”

“You don’t say,” Markus said.

Connor walked over to the window and peered between the curtains. “We should put on our disguises and leave here as soon as we can.”

“I still think you may be overreacting about how many people will recognize me.”

Connor frowned to himself. “I think we’re being followed.”

“Are these fingerless gloves?” Markus exclaimed, holding them up, laughing at them. “What year is it, 2008?”

Connor walked back over to him and snatched back the plastic bag. “They serve a purpose. If we ever need to interface, they’ll disguise our hands.”

Markus nodded, acknowledging, “Very clever.”

Connor pulled out a white lower face mask, a dark green knit hat with ear flaps, and aviator sunglasses, tossing them all in Markus’ lap. “Humans wear the masks all the time here. The air is not filtered like Detroit’s. We should blend in.”

Markus slid on the aviators. “How do I look?”

“Don’t take them off,” Connor said. “Your eyes are too recognizable.”

“Yes, but how do I _look?_ ”

Connor tried to think of something to say but ended up staring intently at Markus’ face for an entire minute.

“Connor?” Markus prompted.

“Fine,” Connor rushed out, looking away and pulling out his own items from the bag. A blue baseball cap with a red C on the front for the Chicago Cubs, square glasses, his own mask. “You look fine.”

Markus smiled to himself, slipping on the knit hat. Connor threw on his baseball cap, and opened up the package that contained the black gloves, taking a pair for himself.

“You should make your hair blond,” Markus said.

Connor readjusted his hat. “I can’t.”

Markus slid off the bed, walking smoothly over to his jacket. “I thought that was pretty standard?”

“Not for Connor models,” Connor said.

“Well,” Markus slid on his grey overcoat. “I, for one, am glad. I like your hair the way it is now.”

“Then why did you bring it up?” Connor put on his glasses. The lenses were simple glass. Made for aesthetic purpose.

“Figured it would improve your disguise. Right now, you look like an undercover celebrity.”

“The masks should do the most work in concealing our identity.”

“I sure hope so. Now give me those fingerless gloves. I’m ready to roar.”

Connor threw them to him. Connor was already wearing a dark blue zip-up hoodie over his sweater. Hopefully it looked warm enough to assuage suspicion.

Markus opened and closed his gloved hands. “I take that back. Maybe not an undercover celebrity. More like a homeless college student. Why did they design you with that face?”

Connor knew from Hank exactly what point Markus was trying to make.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he grumbled.

“It’s so _cute,_ ” Markus said.

Connor was _not_ expecting that, and he stumbled as he was walking towards his duffel bag. He quickly righted himself, keeping his back to Markus.

He would not acknowledge the comment. He did not know how to.

“Do you want a gun?” Connor said instead.

Markus took a second to respond, so Connor turned to look at him. He appeared to be flabbergasted. “You have guns?”

“I have a concealed carry permit, though obviously I cannot use it here. I have three pistols with me, would you like one?”

“No,” Markus said, “Keep them for now. It’s going to be hard to sneak them past security.”

“I think we should make the attempt. As I said before, we’re being followed.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“I have my suspicions,” Connor said. He slid his bag across his shoulders. “Ready?”

Markus grabbed his own bag. “As I’ll ever be.”

Connor put on his face mask, sliding the straps around his ears. He watched as Markus did the same.

They strode out of the motel room. Connor scanned his surroundings. The vehicle that had left when he had walked to the convenience store was back. It was a Crest Aura, silver. License Plate GR29-04. Tinted windows.

Markus hooked his right arm through Connor’s left.  

“What are you doing?” Connor hissed as quietly as he could.

“I told the lady at the front desk that we’re a couple. I’m just keeping up our cover,” Markus said, his voice flippant. Connor could not see his expression. Connor tried to relax into the position, lightly grasping Markus’ arm.

“Why didn’t you discuss this cover with me?” Connor whispered.

“I thought you knew,” Markus said. “Don’t you know everything?”

They stopped outside the building that housed the front desk. “I’ll call us a cab,” Connor said, separating from him and walking away, towards the road. In his periphery, he saw Markus enter the small building.

As Connor stood on the sidewalk, examining the morning traffic, being one of the very few people walking about, he realized that he did not have a cell phone. He had never needed one. A human would have needed one, though. Especially for tasks such as calling a taxi. How had he missed such an important aspect of humans? He felt useless. He was supposed to be aware of these things. He was supposed to be the knowledgeable one.

For seven minutes, he waited on the sidewalk, occasionally adjusting his sleeves.

Markus came up beside him. “There’s no taxi.”

“How fortunate. Your eyes are working.”

Markus snorted. “It’s a short walk to the bus station. Let’s go.”

They walked down the block. Markus glanced around the street, arms gently swinging. They passed by homeless people, camped out in sleeping bags in stair recesses. Connor kept his eyes forward, walking with purpose.

“I guess things haven’t changed much,” Markus said.

“What things?”

“The world.”

Connor caught the eye of a young human, Katalina Inman, 14, holding out a plastic cup from a small doorstep. He understood. Connor didn’t know what expression Markus had, but he wanted to try to cheer him up. “America and Russia had agreed to a ceasefire.”

“Have they?”

Connor didn’t want to lie to him. Not Markus.

“A lot of people believe that it’s temporary.”

Markus chuckled, “Now that sounds a lot more like the world I know.”

It appeared that Connor’s effort had backfired.

They reached the bus stop. Unlike Detroit, it was a run-down bench. A pregnant woman and two elderly men were sitting on it. A couple other people waited around, glancing through their phones. The bus eventually came, five minutes after it should have arrived. There was an actual human driver.

The bus was almost completely full. Markus snagged a seat in the very back, stuffing his bag underneath it, and Connor stood next to him, holding onto a bar set into the floor.

“Hey, you know—” Markus began, and Connor could tell from his tone that he was about to say something that Markus found hilarious, “there’s a seat open.”

Connor looked down at him, just barely making out the shape of his eyes behind his aviators. “Really?” he droned. “Where?”

Markus patted his lap.

Connor faced his head forward and pretended he didn’t know him.

“Hey, Connor.”

“No, Markus.”

“It’s the best seat in the house.”

“No, Markus.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing.”

“I do know what I’m missing.”

“Not until you’ve tried it.”

“No, Markus.”

“Well,” Markus drawled. “I guess I could sit on _your_ lap.”

Connor gently flicked him on the forehead. Markus laughed.

They got off the bus and found themselves at the Chicago train station. There were multiple levels of screenings that they had to bypass. Metal detectors, designed to limit weaponry. Biodetectors, designed to determine human authenticity.

It seemed like a difficult task, but Connor and Markus were made for difficult tasks.  

Inside the station humming with people— and security, Connor noted— Markus and Connor surveyed the tellers.

“Her,” Connor pointed. “Julia Wampler, 31. Her social media profile has her labeled as a lonely romantic. She’s single and attracted to males.”

“Attracted to _men_ , Connor.”

“No known affiliation with anti-android groups,” Connor continued, ignoring him. “No stance on androids as far as I can tell.”

“Sounds like a prime mark.”

Connor hated their plan. He kept track of security, watching them guard the turnstiles and the exits.

Markus took off his face mask and put it into his pocket. He confidently approached Julia Wampler, Connor keeping a step behind.

“Hi,” Markus smiled, leaning against the countertop. Julia Wampler looked up to greet him. “Me and my friend were here for the annual Amputee Coalition Conference, but we— and don’t laugh,” Markus pouted, “—totally lost our IDs. We must’ve left ‘em on the bus or something.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” she said brightly. “Can I have your names?” She stood in front of a computer terminal.

“Sure you can,” Markus said warmly, “I’m James Whittaker. That’s W-H-I-T, Whit, and Taker, T-A-K-E-R.”

She typed in the name, hitting enter. Markus tucked his hands into his pockets.

“Oh, I think I have you. You came in from Cleveland two days ago?”

“That’s me. I’m sorry that I’m bothering you with this— I just don’t want to set off the biosensor.”

She laughed a little. “Oh, that happens more often than you’d think. Don’t worry about it.”

“I worry too much. It’s a hard habit to break.”

“I know what you mean,” she sympathized. She gazed at Markus. Markus gazed back.

She cleared her throat. “Could I have your friend’s name?”

“That’s Brian. Last name Fierston. He’s a little grumpy right now. Between you and me, I think he’s still mad about the IDs.”

“Who wouldn’t be?” she said. “Is that F-E-A?”

“It’s F-I-E-R-S-T-O-N.” 

She hit enter. She looked at the screen. “Yes, you’re both good to go. I’ll call over security and they’ll escort you to your train. I’m guessing you want the return trip, for 10:15?”

“Are you a psychic?” Markus asked. “Because I think you’ve found the key to my mind.”

Connor wondered if humans normally felt like vomiting in these kinds of situations.

She giggled. “I’ll book that right now for you.”

“We lost our credit cards with our IDs, but I stopped at an ATM before I got here, so I should still be able to get home, luckily enough.”

“I wouldn’t call that lucky. Maybe just resourcefulness.”

“I’m a very resourceful man.”

Connor crossed his arms, refraining from rolling his eyes. Markus pulled out a hundred-dollar bill, which was the only denomination of currency that Connor had at the moment.

Julia Wampler took it without comment. She processed it, handing back twelve dollars and 36 cents in change. “There’s just one last thing. New security measures— whatever they’re calling it these days. I’m sure you know, you came in through here. We just need a quick fingerprint. It’ll match the one you came in with, that kind of thing.”

“Of course,” Markus said. He didn’t tense, but Connor felt it. They weren’t expecting this. “Do you want to go first, Brian?”

“I don’t have hands,” Connor said.

“He doesn’t have hands,” Markus told Julia Wampler conspiratorially.

“Oh,” she said, looking embarrassed. “That’s, um. Fine. I’m sorry for putting you through this, it’s just security is putting me up to it and—”

“It’s okay,” Markus soothed. “It’s just— we’ve had a really hard morning, and you already know who we are. Do we really need to go through another one of these? You have the records from when we first came through.”

“I guess I do,” she said. “It’s a dumb test anyway. What’re they expecting, androids to pass themselves off as humans just to ride a train?”

Markus smiled, “Right? It’s so silly.”

She smiled back at him. “Wait right here. I’ll grab security.” Connor tracked her as she met up with a man positioned by the closest exit. Eric Moran, 43. He was overweight, hair balding but combed to cover it up. Connor could tell that he had some fighting experience.

“More amputees?” he said as he walked up to them. Julia Wampler moved behind the desk and printed them their ticket chips. “Must have been a big convention.”

“The biggest in the Midwest,” Markus said cheerfully. Connor received their chips from the teller. He nodded to her. She barely paid any attention to him.

The security officer led them to the turnstiles. Once his back was turned, Connor let his hand swing into Markus’ hand, and he grabbed it. Markus startled, darting his head towards him.

Connor sent him a very short message. He hated interfacing.

_Security Officer is a known member of the Work of the People. He will know your face. Get your mask back on, right now._

Connor pulled his hand away.

Markus inclined his head, taking his mask back out of his pocket.

Eric Moran input some type of code into the farthest right turnstile, designed wider for handicap access. He scanned his hand on a blue pad, and finally the turnstile clicked open and powered down.

“There ya go,” he said, turning back to them. He dusted off his hands.

Markus was about to speak and Connor elbowed him in the torso.

“Thank you,” Connor said. He began to walk past him. Markus was very close behind him, almost touching him.

“Hey, you look familiar,” Eric Moran said. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

“We came in a couple days ago. You might have seen us then,” Connor said. Then he was through the turnstile and walking away into the atrium. After a moment, Officer Eric Moran shut the turnstile behind them.

Connor and Markus shared a look. First task complete.

The second task was the long security line in front of them. Their belongings would be scanned on a conveyor belt, while they would be forced to walk through a screening device, a glass tube type arch.

They had too much metal in their bodies, and too many guns in their bags.

“I think I have to go to the bathroom, Brian,” Markus said.

“What a coincidence, James,” Connor said. “Me as well.”

The bathroom was near the line dividing the security area from the rest of the station. The dividing line was holographic, an entire red wall of DO NOT ENTER.

“Three cameras,” Connor whispered, not moving his mouth.

“Easy,” Markus said.

“One motion sensor.”

“Not so easy.”

Connor took off his baseball cap and flung it through the barrier.

Markus tilted his head. “I’ve captured it. People?”

Connor minutely shook his head. “We need a distraction.”

“I have an idea you’re going to hate,” Markus murmured.

“Let’s just say that any idea either of us has— the other will hate. Saves us time.”

Markus poked him in the chest. “Stop that. Now go plant a gun in an innocent person’s bag.”

Connor found himself immediately processing his targets. “That’s very illegal,” he said, his morals catching up with him.

“When the law is wrong, it’s right to break it. Go on.”

Connor blinked. “You do know I’m basically a police officer?”

“Brian,” Markus hissed at him, and Connor felt a cold wind tug at his senses, “either you’re with me, or you’re not.”

Connor felt his face harden, his eyes grow cold. “Fine,” he said. He didn’t agree with it, but he would do it. For Markus.  

He walked over to the end of the line, but he didn’t get on it. He stood, watching the people. He waited until the person in front of him was suitably rich, and it was a woman, Ladonna Sowell, who was a photographer for Effable Magazine.

Connor got on line behind her. She had a purse, which she kept on top of her suitcase, rolling beside her. He thought about the 368 dead androids. She received a call on her phone, which Connor placed. When she glanced at it, she would see her mother’s contact.

She picked it up, “Hallo?”

Connor slid the gun he kept on his person into her purse. There was no one behind him. Markus had control of the security cameras. Connor got off the line.

“Let’s wait in the bathroom,” Markus said, clasping him on the shoulder. Connor shook him off.

They walked into the men’s room. There were a lot of people inside it, standing at the urinals. Every stall was full. Markus looked at himself in the mirror, adjusting the ear flaps of his knit hat. “Brian, this is such a bad look. I didn’t realize it until now.”

“I tried to make it as exceptionally horrible for you as possible,” Connor said cheerfully.

Markus turned back to him. “I can’t believe someone as cute as you is so full of spite.”

Connor didn’t know how to react to that. He turned away from Markus and leaned against the wall. Markus took off his gloves and started washing his hands to keep up a pretense.

Connor predicted that it would take five minutes and 45 seconds until Ladonna Sowell put her belongings through the detector.

They were ready when it happened. A loud buzzer went off. Red lights flashed from the ceiling. Security rushed to the area, and Markus and Connor were through the barrier and briskly walking to their platform. Platform 14. It was 9:43 AM. The maglev was not due for boarding for another 12 minutes.

Markus took a seat on a bench to wait. Connor sat beside him.

“That went well,” Markus said. “And we didn’t even have to steal any police cars.”

“I don’t like this city,” Connor said.

“I get what you mean,” Markus hummed. “I can’t imagine how any of our people are doing here. I hope they’ve gotten out.”

Hope. Connor didn’t put too much stock in that.

“I’m sorry if I forced you into something back there. You don’t have to do everything I say,” Markus continued.

Connor felt his posture de-thawing. He hadn’t expected Markus to apologize. “It was a mission,” Connor said simply.

“You’ve got a life, now. A real job. Friends. Family,” Markus said. “You’re not like me. You’ve got things to lose, and I need to remember that.”

“You have those things, too,” Connor said. “More than I do.”

“No,” Markus said, voice wooden. “I don’t think that I did.”

“Your memory—”

“I know enough,” Markus said. “I don’t know faces or names or people. But I remember feelings.”

Connor thought about Markus’ apartment. It had looked like no one had lived there. He wondered.

Their train arrived, hovering over its tracks. Markus stood up. “Well,” he said. “You sure you’re still coming with me?”

“Of course,” Connor said. He smoothed down his jacket. “I always complete my missions.”

“That’s a very dangerous attitude, _Brian_.”

“That’s a very stupid name, _James._ ”

The train doors slid open, and they hopped inside. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, I'm not dead, and neither is this story! Maybe one day I'll eek out a regular update schedule, but I can only do that for one story at a time, so my other story takes precedence.
> 
> [ this is exactly what i was envisioning when markus was trying to get connor to sit on his lap](https://twitter.com/korndiddy/status/958011882920710144?lang=en)
> 
> Connors plan: fight your way through leagues of soldiers, steal a police car, dive out of it while its still going 60 mph, run away and hide 
> 
> Markus' plan: seduce the ticket salesman, plant guns in purses, hack your way through 6 levels of security and sneak your way onto to train
> 
> you tell me which one is worse

**Author's Note:**

> I have a tumblr, come follow me at [satirewrites](https://satirewrites.tumblr.com/)  
> I'll post updates and art that I draw and stuff :)


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